He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Dark, chestnut hair swept elegantly over his brow. Head held high, his olive brown face glimmered in the sunlight, flawless as a chiseled stone statue. His eyelashes were full and long, his nose straight and refined, and the curve of his soft smile formed a perfect outline of Cupid’s famous bow. She stared at him from behind the green, blossoming trees, watching as he strode regally through the wood, and sighed.

Looking at him was like looking into the surface of the sun. The sight was impossibly beautiful and bright, able to light up her day in an instant. And yet it blinded her. Caused her to burn with the heavy weight of her unsung love. The worst part was, she knew nothing would come of it. She knew he would only hurt her, in the end. She’d heard the stories of Ameinias and Dané, tragic tales ending in blunt rejection. But she could not bring herself to focus on anyone—or anything—else. All other joys were dim candles compared to her lovely Narcissus.

She craned her neck to get a better look—and stumbled, leaves rustling and twigs snapping on impact.

“Is someone here?” Narcissus glanced around viligantly, shielding his eyes with his hand. Blushing, she stood, her cover blown.

“Here,” she called. May as well take her chance now, she thought, stepping toward him with the sweetest smile she could muster, arms outstretched. His dark eyes focused on her, looking her up and down, and for a moment, hope blossomed in her chest. No one had ever won his affections before, true, but who was to say she couldn’t be the first?

Then he scoffed under his breath.

“I can’t stay,” he said. She blinked, tears filling her eyes.

“Stay.” Sculpted nose now wrinkled, he shook his head.

“I don’t want you to love me.” The harsh words cut deep, like shards of glass in her chest. She never should have tried to speak to him—at least before, she still had the possibility of a chance. Now she had nothing but a sad, withered heart. Trailing behind him as he turned away, she could only grasp his elbow and whisper one last plea.

“Love me.”

He faced her, a sneer contorting his rosy lips.

“Get away from me.”

She fell to the dirt, blubbering nonsense as she watched him leave. More than anything, she wanted to run after him and tell him how much she loved him, needed him. How his face was like an angel’s and his voice was music and, though she’d only known him a short time, she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. She wanted to scream and cry and spill the contents of her heart out into the world with her words.

But she could not even string together a single, proper sentence.

Richie stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with the kind of fear only a man who's just stepped on a conversational landmine understands. Donna, hands on hips, glared at him with the intensity of a thousand suns. “Well, I’ll definitely know better than to ever ask for your opinion again! “ She hissed, red faced, as she angrily tugged off her new blue jeans.

"Donna, babe, I didn't mean chunky like chunky; I meant it like... like chunky peanut butter! You know, the good kind, full of... flavor?" Richie stammered, his attempt at recovery slipping on the verbal banana peel.

Donna's eyebrow arched so high it could have found a new home in her hairline. "Flavor, Richie? Really? What's next? You're going to tell me that these jeans are 'seasoned with experience'?"

Richie, sweating now, tried to navigate the minefield he'd laid for himself. "No, no, of course not! It's just that... well, you're like fine wine, you get better with... with age?" The words tumbled out like clowns from a tiny car, each one more ridiculous than the last.

"Fine wine? Richie, I'm 28, not 82!" Donna crossed her arms, her foot tapping out a rhythm of impending doom.

Desperate, Richie grasped for anything that might resemble a compliment. "And like a fine wine, you're... you're complex and... full-bodied?" The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Donna's stare turned icy.

"Full-bodied? That's it. I'm going to my mother's," Donna declared, snatching her purse.

"No, wait! I mean, you're not just a spring chicken, you're... you're the whole farm! A delightful, charming, organic farm!" Richie's words were a runaway train, and he was tied to the tracks.

Donna paused at the door, shaking her head. "I can't even with you right now, Richie."

As the door slammed shut, Richie slumped against the wall. "Maybe I should just stick to sign language," he muttered to himself.

Nancy found herself in a rather peculiar predicament. She had been crushing on Luke for what felt like an eternity, and today was the day she had finally mustered up the courage to express her feelings. However, fate had a different plan in mind.

As she walked up to Luke, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind suddenly turned into a jumbled mess of words. Every time she tried to speak, her thoughts became twisted, and the innocent and sweet phrases she had rehearsed in her mind transformed into something entirely different. It was as if her brain had been hijacked by a mischievous imp determined to make her life awkward.

“Nancy!” Luke greeted her with a warm smile.

“Hey, Luke,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “I just wanted to say… um, you have really nice… um, eyes. Yeah, really nice… orbs. I mean, irises. Oh, forget it!”

Luke’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I guess?”

Nancy’s frustration grew as her attempts to sound smooth and cute turned into unintentional innuendos. She tried to compose herself, taking a deep breath and attempting to start fresh.

“Luke, you know, whenever I see you, my heart… races. Like, it’s on a marathon or something. Not that I’m saying you make my heart run, but, uh, you know what I mean.”

Luke’s puzzled expression deepened. “Uh, sure, Nancy. Hearts racing and marathons… got it.”

Nancy’s face turned beet red as she realized how her words were being interpreted. She desperately tried to regain control of her tongue and salvage the situation.

“I mean, Luke, you’re just so… attractive. Like, really, really… magnetic. Not that you’re literally magnetic, but, you know, you have this… pull. A pull on me.”

Luke scratched his head, clearly baffled. “Nancy, I appreciate the compliments, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say here.”

Nancy’s frustration reached its peak. She couldn’t believe how her innocent intentions were being twisted into something entirely different. She decided to abandon her attempts at smoothness and just be honest.

“Luke, I like you. A lot. But apparently, my brain has decided to turn every attempt at expressing my feelings into a bizarre game of word association. I promise, I’m not trying to be awkward or weird. I just… really like you.”

Luke’s confusion melted into a warm smile. “Nancy, I really like you too. And honestly, all these awkward, twisted words only make you more endearing to me. So, let’s forget the misunderstandings and start fresh, okay?”

Relieved, Nancy grinned back at Luke. “Sounds like a plan. No more word mishaps, I promise.”

And from that day forward, Nancy and Luke’s relationship blossomed, built on a foundation of quirky misunderstandings and a shared sense of humor. They learned to laugh at the awkwardness and embrace their unique way of communicating, creating a bond that was stronger than any perfectly smooth and cute confession could ever be.

Words don’t come to me in real life I falter, I stumble I think of what could have been said The shampoo bottles will tell you

Words aren’t easy for me in real life I can’t say a full sentence Multiple clauses Proper old English

Words evade me in real life I stay quiet while you wait Tick, tock Expectant

Words are evil in real life They scratch and tear I can’t seem to filter out All that bad

Words jump around me in real life Like fleas, laughing in my face Ha! Ha! Ha! They don’t go near my mouth

Words on paper Flow like water Crystal clear Silky smooth

I’m so much stronger Braver Smarter With words on paper.

here’s some news…

i am suffering a MAJOR book hangover. but it’s not from just one book…

• anna and the french kiss (etienne st. clair has my freaking heart in his hand)
• the summer of broken rules (this book was heartbreaking and flawless)
• empire of storms (rowan whitethorn might just be the sexiest thing EVER)

… so yeah.

you could say i’m suffering from multiple hiraeth’s…

look it up 😉

It started in the morning. I awoke with this sinking feeling, Limbs sapped from strength, Mind empty of energy,

But I got up. Because I have to. Because there’s no option not to.

By the time the bus came to school, My asthma had decided to seize my lungs, Leaving me breathing in whistle tones. I don’t like the way my pumps Make me feel All jittery, like my skin is crawling Trying to separate itself from my bones.

But I took them. Because I have to. Because there’s no option not to That is remotely acceptable to society.

My history teacher has these things, Like the way her voice lilts in a scraping way that makes the hair on my arms stand on end, Or how she will bring her hands apart for each statement, Only to clap them back together when she has finished each one. Every. Clap! Single. Clap! One. Clap! Each one chipping away at my sanity And self control. They set into me As I suppressed the impulse to get up and leave.

But I stayed seated. Because I have to. Because there’s no option not to That doesn’t end with me not making a scene.

Shortly after lunch, everything in me tilted On axis. My head started to pound As my body felt estranged, Shifting like blurring in a camera lens. My eyes started to protest To every glimpse of light I was seeing, So I went quietly to the nurse And I swallowed her pills down with the tears, Even as I wanted to cry Over how Alien I felt.

But I kept my eyes dry. Because I have to. Because there’s no option not to That doesn’t end with more questions I have to answer.

By the time the last class came, I was tired and broken. Study hall was all that was left. I held my breath, I could get through this. It was almost over. But as I walked in first, My eyes started to burn. Straining from the light, I turned to the others, Asked if I could turn off just one. They said “no we need to see,” Despite two large windows with sun shining through To light up their self-lit computer screens. Being outnumbered, I turned to my teacher, Asked if I could move To the library Where the light was more timid, But he said no. So I took a space in the corner, Put my hoodie over my head, And withheld the urge to yell At that insensitivity of the people around me.

But of course I didn’t. I stayed down. I stayed quiet. I stayed compliant. Because that’s everything that I am. Because I believe that there’s no option not to That doesn’t end with me not hating myself.

So instead I cry helplessly In a corner With earbuds in Hoodie Up Eyes closed.

Note: This is abt me from a while ago. That is definitely not my philosophy anymore.

“HILDY GIMBERG,” I spluttered. A burst of nervous laughter erupted from the judgmental, bored seventh graders around me. I swallowed and blinked back tears.

“Excuse you?” Said the history teacher, clearly losing patience. She sighed, pushed up her glasses, and reprimanded, “This isn’t a joke. This is your fourth quarter presentation on the Cherokee tribe. The PowerPoint is obviously well done. Dear, if you continue to joke, I’ll give minus 50.”

The class teased and mocked. “OOH!” they said.

My brows furrowed in guttural anger. I practiced this speech for days! How come I just can’t get the words out??? Perhaps this is the curse for all the sins I’ve done.

I closed my eyes and feel the annoyed stares coming from my peers. The teacher is on her phone. Am I that boring?

“Continue,” The teacher said.

I shook my head.

“Continue, or I’ll have to give you a zero,” warned the teacher.

I sniffed, about to cry. I opened my mouth-

“DO IT SHOP FISKVPD!” I screamed.

The class began laughed and giggled. They pointed at me. Honestly, can I blame them?

I would laugh too.

What’s the word Lepeop no lepeop suddenly there is a room full of lepeop between Mandy and me Where at the what’s the word the sick people place yes I remember the headache not a headache my arms, my legs heavy why so heavy I remember the red flashing lights on the bambulance I remember joking with the paramedics I knew one of the paramedic from my kid’s Little League it’s the flu, just a really bad flu, man cold bed thing and a thin blanket I hear my wife’s voice that’s my wife but I can’t see her her voice is high and scared no her voice is calm telling me she is here asking me how I’m doing then suddenly there are people, tocters and nurses and bright lights that hurts too bright I say too hurts woman I love says something so many questions my arm flings out my words fall to the seafoam tiled floor What is happening tell me what is going on my love is shouting no soft words come to me her her hand on my what’s the word telling me it is going to be okay

Every word carries behind it intent Intent to reach out Intent to be understood Intent to connect But I’m choking on the transparency Transparency is being seen Transparency is being understood Transparency is being vulnerable The desperation to be heard and yet safe Loving freely is not safe Telling plainly is not safe Reciprocation is a chance not a right So I choke on my words So I remain quiet Because the hope of what could be is no guarantee

Into class they file slowly Toe to toe as she surveys From her place above them all She grins over the blank parade

“Plea—“

At her right hand slick white sheets Are covered up by filmy black She paces back and forth Listening to the pencils clack

“Please hel—“

The heads of all I cared about Are drowning in a pulpy sea Of ruler lines and equations As she lays the laws of chemistry

“I need hel—“

She’s gobbled up our atoms Our hope and passion nulled And when she’s finished glutting herself She still can’t be controlled

“I can’t—“

She take the littlest one first Pulls her below the graphite sea And when the silent cries finally cease She comes back just for me

“…”

I cannot tell her that this is wrong With the predator and prey But is it right, in high school? Teachers weren’t supposed to be this way